


The Thain and the Year of the Troubles

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Paladin is the best, Paladin is the embodiment of "Fight me", The Troubles, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: Paladin Took II has been Thain of the Shire for scarcely three years when the little land goes through one of the worst times in its history. With his son gone, swept away to goodness knows where on an adventure with his cousins, Paladin must try to keep his head clear to face whatever threatens his people.





	The Thain and the Year of the Troubles

When the news came from Buckland that Crickhollow, Frodo Baggins’ new home, had been attacked and that the home was found empty, Paladin panicked. He knew his son Peregrin had been there, along with his cousins. Paladin had ridden alone to Buckland, meeting there with his brother-in-law Saradoc to demand an answer. But the Master of Buckland seemed more than simply out of sorts – exhausted and worried in equal measure.

“I know very little as of yet,” Saradoc told him as he led him through the winding tunnels of Brandy Hall. “And Fatty does not seem to be of a sound mind after what happened.”

“Fredegar,” Paladin muttered grimly. It had to be Fredegar Bolger, or Fatty as he was normally called. The lad normally had a mite more sense, he thought, than to get caught up in any odd schemes. “He helped Frodo move, didn’t he?”

“Fatty and my Merry brought the last wagon-load about a week ago,” Saradoc confirmed. “Frodo, Pippin, and Frodo’s gardener were to follow a day or two after, though I’ve no clue if they ever arrived. But they must have. Fatty has at the very least admitted to seeing them.”

The head of the Brandybucks stopped by a small door on the left side of the passage and knocked on it, but no answer came from within the room. After barely a moment of hesitance, he opened the door and stepped inside, followed closely by Paladin.

There on a bed in the corner sat Fredegar Bolger, pale and wide-eyed, and stared at them as though they were ghosts out of a fever-dream.

“Easy, lad,” Saradoc said. His voice was gentle, as though he were speaking to a spooked pony. “It’s me. You remember your cousin Paladin, don’t you?”

The young hobbit gave a slow nod, almost as if he wasn’t certain of if he ought to answer the question. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Paladin felt as though his heart was about to break; the lad looked so frightened, even in a place where he ought to feel safe.

“I know you’ve been through something terrible,” Paladin said softly as he came to stand beside the bed. “But Saradoc tells me that you were the last to see my son. Fredegar, I must know what happened.”

“I can’t tell you everything,” Fredegar answered at length, after gathering his wits. “There are parts of it that I don’t understand fully myself, and I cannot simply betray Frodo. But I will tell you what little remains.”

And though he stammered and often paused to listen for distant noises, he told them. He told them how Meriadoc, along with Samwise Gamgee and Peregrin, had uncovered some dark plot that had Frodo planning to flee the Shire. He told them how Frodo had, with Meriadoc’s wily help, purchased Crickhollow to serve as a last attempt to fool everybody in the Shire that he was simply retiring elsewhere. He told them what little he knew of the wizard Gandalf’s involvement, and of how Frodo and Sam and Pippin were to travel on their own through the Shire.

“They weren’t to stay,” he said quietly. “Not even a day. It was far too dangerous; they had to keep moving as soon as possible. But we’d counted on that, Merry and I. So we’d readied ponies and travel-rations, and we’d laid up plans for which direction they could take. And when Frodo and the others arrived, they said they’d been pursued by… No, I can’t say. All I know is that they were riders in black, and they were after Frodo. He wanted to go on alone, to take only Sam with him, but Merry and Pippin told him of our little conspiracy and refused to allow him to have his way. And when he gave in, the travel-plans changed. He insisted they leave as soon as was possible – at dawn already – and that they were to take the fastest route east that allowed them to avoid the road.”

“The Old Forest,” Paladin filled in, and the grim tone in his voice had Fredegar flinching as though he’d been struck. “You’re telling me that my son, my youngest child, my heir, followed his fool cousins into that cursed place.”

“They asked me to come,” Fredegar admitted weakly. “But I’m terrified of the forest! There are so many tales of it, and I’d sooner toss myself into the Brandywine than go in there. And someone had to stay behind in case Gandalf caught up, and I told them so!”

“What happened, lad?” Saradoc interjected. His voice shook as he spoke; the news of what his son had been up to were not well received at all. “By the sound of it, this all happened in a very rapid succession. What on earth did you spend an entire week doing?”

“I was to impersonate Frodo, in case people came by to ask questions,” Fredegar stated. “I wore some of his old clothes, and I stuck close to the house just to give the impression that it was lived in. But it… It wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t safe.” The lad shuddered and shook his head. “That night, I… I’d felt so awful the entire day, like something was nearby that was just waiting to pounce. It was such a horrible feeling, it had me on edge so that I couldn’t find rest. And then I thought I heard something, so I went to look outside. I’m still not certain of what I saw, but it looked like a shadow moving beneath the trees, and the gate looked as though it opened on its own! So I closed and locked the door, and I waited a little. Then when it got darker, I heard the sound of hooves along the lane, and I couldn’t stand it anymore!”

“You ran,” Saradoc finished for him.

“I went out the back door,” Fredegar sighed. “And I ran across the fields. If I’d stayed, I wouldn’t be here now, I’m sure of that.”

Without a word, Paladin turned and left the room. He’d heard more than enough. To those around him, he likely looked furious; but there was only cold dread gripping his heart, and he thought of his son and his companions. Whatever stories there were of the Old Forest, the stories existed for a reason. The Brandybucks were perhaps used to going in there every now and then, but they rarely went far. And now the forest seemed to have swallowed his kin, and they were unlikely to come back.

“They’re not dead,” he said grimly when Saradoc caught up with him. “Whoever is after Frodo, and wherever they’ve all gone now, they are not dead.”

“What do you propose to do?” his brother-in-law asked. “Paladin, of course I agree that they’re not dead, but what on earth do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know about you,” the Took answered, “but I am going into the Old Forest and I am going to find them. I’ll bring the lads home, and I’ll give Frodo a piece of my mind.”

Saradoc’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. Gone was the troubled look on the Master’s face, replaced by something colder and more determined.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said quietly. “There’s no way in there now, Merry took the only key to the gate in the High Hay. Look here, Paladin – trouble obviously followed Frodo from Bag End and here to Buckland. And if trouble has found the Shire, the land will need its Thain.”

“And the Thain will need his heir,” Paladin cried, hackles rising at the notion of leaving Pippin and the others to their fate. “I need to find my son!” He took hold of Saradoc’s arm and gave the shorter hobbit a hard shove. “It is entirely your business if you wish to sit here on your fat arse and do nothing, but I can’t do that! My Pippin is out there, and I have to go to him!”

“And it is not only your son who has gone!” Saradoc’s voice rose suddenly to a shout; Paladin, unused to such outbursts from the younger hobbit, took a step back but was not quick enough to avoid the Brandybuck when he flew forward and slammed the Took against the wall. “My son is in there as well! My only child, your sister’s child! And the son of poor old Hamfast Gamgee! For goodness’ sake, Frodo is with them! Do you think that I don’t want to go, that I’d rather just sit here? Get it through that thick skull of yours that it is simply not possible! Merry took the key, and even if I still had it, there’s nothing we could do! It’s been a week! Whatever trail there was has run cold by now!”

They stared at each other for a long while. Saradoc’s grasp on Paladin soon loosened, and the Took slowly stepped away from the wall. They rarely fought – even raising their voices against each other was uncommon. But there was a pain in the Master’s voice that Paladin felt echoed in his own heart, and he knew his brother-in-law was right. There was nothing he could do for his son now.

 --

It wasn’t long afterwards that trouble really began. News came pouring in from all corners of the Shire that something was not right. Farms, mills, inns, everything was being bought up, and many places were torn down. For every piece of news and for every letter with complaints that reached the Thain, Paladin felt rather like he was watching a smial collapse around him.

“It isn’t right,” snapped Will Whitfoot as soon as he was allowed into the Thain’s study. “It’s that Lotho Sackville-Baggins! I’ve sent word around to find out who’s behind all of this nonsense, and it’s him! I’m telling you, Paladin, he’s up to something!”

Paladin forced himself to not sigh and roll his eyes; old Flourdumpling was perhaps not the most excitable sort, but he knew how to complain about the most irrelevant things. One learned to ignore it. And still, the matter was worrying.

“There is no law against purchasing multiple holdings,” he answered wearily. “I’ve heard the same as you, but what can I do about it? If he purchases a farm or a mill, it’s his choice as to what to do with it. If he wants to tear it down and build something new, that’s his business.”

“And where do you think he gets the money? Where do you suppose all the produce and everything else goes?”

Paladin frowned and gave Will a suspicious look. The mayor crossed his arms and glared back.

“I told you, I’ve looked into it,” Will insisted. “You remember Otho, don’t you? Well, old Otho had a few leaf-farms in the Southfarthing. They produced quite well – and note the past tense there, because there’s not a hobbit in all the Shire who has seen any leaf from there since at least two years back. All of it is being carted off south, past Sarn Ford, and so is all the produce from any farms Lotho owns!”

“So he has a business associate somewhere south outside the bounds,” Paladin tried, though his words sounded hollow and unconvincing to his own ears. “That’s also something I can do nothing about.”

“There are no towns that we hobbits know of in that direction,” snapped Will. “The Old South Road goes very far, and we know of no towns that it passes through!”

Paladin chewed on the inside of his lower lip. This was a very different matter; winter had already come, and it would soon be Yule. It hadn’t been a bad year at all, of course, but if both produce and pipeweed was being carted off to goodness knows where, it was going to make things a tad more difficult.

“Then there are these Men, these ruffians he’s brought in,” Will continued, pacing back and forth before Paladin’s desk. “They’re everywhere! Have you heard that they built a new mill in Hobbiton? It’s a monstrosity! They come and go as they please, they cut down trees and they tear down homes, and they put up these sorry-looking sheds everywhere! It’s a blight on this land!”

“Ruffians,” Paladin repeated slowly. “It’s odd, then, that I’ve not heard of them being spotted here in Tookland.”

“Well, you know Lotho.” Will snorted and shook his head. “His name is too fitting in this matter. He loathes all to do with the Tooks, you know. I’d laugh if it weren’t such a sorry business. But he knows that you’d never accept it, so I’d wager he’s waiting until he has gained control of holdings here as well, so he’d have a foothold.”

“Which will never happen.” Paladin smiled to himself and tapped one finger on the edge of his desk. “There’s not a farm in Tookland that doesn’t belong to my family, and they cannot be sold off without my leave.”

Will only nodded, and as he went off on another tangent, Paladin’s mind drifted. If Lotho was willing to work with ruffians and brigands, then chances were that it would not matter who things belonged to. Sooner or later, they would be coming for Tookland as well. First the Southfarthing had gone, and seemingly with ease. Then it had started to happen all over the Shire – even Buckland hadn’t been spared the loss of several holdings, from what rumours knew to tell. No, Tookland, it seemed, was all that was left.

“I am going up to Bag End,” Will stated, finally drawing Paladin’s attention again. “And I am going to have a word with Lotho and tell him I won’t accept any of this! He is going over the heads of the Worthies, and it is simply unacceptable!”

“You don’t mean to go there alone, surely?” cried Paladin in surprise. “Will, listen to yourself! If it is as you say that Lotho surrounds himself with Men, what chance do you think you have? If Lotho doesn’t want to see you, he won’t see you, and that’s that! You’ll need help with this!”

“He’s a pimply little upstart, and I shan’t stand for his behaviour,” Will replied coldly. “If even old Lobelia can’t stop him anymore, then it’s up to others!”

There was nothing that would change Whitfoot’s mind when he’d decided on a course of action. Sometimes Paladin had wondered if there was a strain of Took-blood somewhere in the family, though the family-tree did not know to tell of it. And this time, it seemed that the old fool had settled on what to do and was not going to accept any protests.

“I’ll give him a piece of my mind, seeing how I’m the mayor,” Will said firmly when Paladin followed him out the door of the Great Smials. “I’ll go there right away, and I’ll not wait until morning.”

“Be careful, all the same,” Paladin advised him. “Whatever Lotho is up to, it’s nothing good, and it’ll be you alone against him.”

“Whatever he’s up to, he’d best remember his place.”

Paladin reached out and grabbed hold of the mayor’s shoulder, drawing him back for a moment.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well, Whitfoot,” he said quietly. “I mean it. Be careful. I don’t like what you’ve told me, and I agree on that something isn’t right about all of this. Lotho won’t pay heed to you being the mayor.”

“Whether he’ll heed me or not, I shall have my say,” Will answered. “And perhaps it’ll stir others up against him, to see that one of us speak up.”

 --

Will didn’t come back, though rumours of what happened did. What few hobbits still had family in Tookland and knew to escape there when they still could brought with them news of old Flourdumpling’s last stand against Lotho.

“He never even got up the Hill,” one of them said sadly. “Those ruffians, they came for him as soon as he was in sight of their sheds. Lotho had put out word that if any of the Worthies came, they were to be apprehended and taken away to the Lockholes.”

The Lockholes. Paladin’s blood boiled at the thought. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out what place was being used as a prison; Michel Delving had a score of little nooks and crannies, and the storage tunnels were only ever used during the winter. It would have been a simple business for Lotho’s Men to turn them into something else entirely.

And Lotho himself, he was growing bolder by the day. Not long after Yule, when distant relatives began to take refuge in Tookland, word came that the little wretch had begun to call himself Chief Shirriff, or simply Chief. It was his bidding that hobbits had to do now, and if they argued, they’d be sent to the Lockholes – or have something worse happen to them. Some of the hobbits who came told of notices being put up here and there with Rules that everyone would have to follow.

“So that’s his game,” Paladin growled when he was told of this piece of news. “That’s what he’s been aiming for – control of the Shire, and of its inhabitants. Has he gone completely mad?”

“It gets worse,” Eglantine told him grimly. She was a rock as the Thain’s Lady, and if there was anyone Paladin was glad to have on his side, it was her. She had gone around to each and every hobbit that had come to them and gathered news, so that she might tell her husband in person. “They took Lobelia as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lotho’s mother. She tried to stop them from going up to Bag End, and they dragged her off to the Lockholes.”

That gave Paladin pause. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was by no means a well-liked person; truth be told, there was a significant part of the Thain that was tempted to let her rot in the Lockholes as the ruffians seemed to have intended. But if she’d been taken away, what did that mean when it came to her son?

“That can’t have been on Lotho’s orders,” he stated. “I’d wager she’s one of very few people he’s genuinely fond of.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Eglantine sighed. “But I don’t know more than that. Everyone is frightened, Paladin, and it seems the rest of the Shire is more or less paralysed. They don’t know what to do.”

Paladin thought carefully for a while. His suspicion of what would come next for Tookland had only been strengthened, but he couldn’t think only of his ancestral land. He needed others to know that the Tooks still stood free and without cowering, and he needed to know if there was anyone in all the Shire who would stand with them. He’d call for a Shire-muster if he could, but only Tooks were likely to answer him, and they were not quite so numerous or so well-trained that they could overwhelm the ruffians.

Soon enough he asked Eglantine to put out word for a volunteer, and he had one before the day was out. It was a young lad, the son of the innkeeper in Tuckborough, but he was bright-eyed and eager to help.

“You must understand the risk,” the Thain told the young hobbit. “I need you to take a message to Buckland, to the Master in Brandy Hall. It’s a long journey, and I daren’t say what you’ll face on the way.”

“I’ll do it all the same,” the lad insisted. “I know the way to Buckland fine, Thain Paladin, and I’ll be as careful as can be.”

“You’ve never dealt with danger on the road,” Paladin answered sharply. “These ruffians, they’re not going to let you go on your merry way. If they do, I’ll gladly admit myself a tom-fool and walk myself over to the Lockholes to be locked up. You need to travel with no small amount of stealth.”

“No pony, then,” the lad said. “Going by foot suits me fine. I can travel by night, and I know the land better than they’re likely to. If need be, I can avoid the road altogether and then cross the Marish just north of Rushey.”

“There’s no telling if the ferry will be up and running,” Paladin interrupted him. “I don’t want you to take any unnecessary chances. If you see ruffians near the ferry, bolt. Run away from there and find another way. But avoid the bridge, whatever you do. Find a farm along the river, but not too close to any bigger settlements, and see if you can find a boat or someone willing to get you across.”

As they spoke, they walked away from the Great Smials and on towards the east. Soon they stood on the outskirts of Tuckborough, and the Green Hill Country stretched before them. For a moment, Paladin simply watched the lad. He was young, far too young to be pulled into a matter such as this, and especially when there was no guarantee that he would come back. He thought briefly of Pippin, and wondered where in the world his dear son was – if he was even alive.

“Be safe,” he said softly, giving the young hobbit’s shoulder a pat before he gave him the letter. “And I beg of you – come back to your parents.”

The lad only grinned at him, took the message, and nodded in farewell before he started down the hill. Paladin remained where he was, staring after him. Something in his heart cracked.

“There goes a hobbit I’ll never see again, likely as not,” he said to himself. “And all I can do is try to hope I’ll never have to explain to his parents why he never came home.”

 --

The ruffians did indeed come, and well before the messenger ever had a chance of coming back. Paladin fretted horribly over the child’s fate, and he found himself lying awake most nights while trying to think of what had happened both to the innkeeper’s son and to his own. If Pippin and his cousins weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere, he hoped that they had found Gandalf at last and were safe with him. The poor lad he’d sent with the message to Saradoc might not have been so lucky as that; at the most, he might have found a family willing to hide him for a time, if he’d not made it to Brandy Hall.

Lotho seemed to take some offense to the Tooks gathering all in one place, for he sent some of his shirriffs first to Tuckborough to speak with the Thain. And Paladin was more than willing to meet them.

“You tom-fools are a sorry sight,” he said by way of greeting when he came out from the Great Smials to see the group of five shirriffs gathered before its doors. All around them were Tooks, whispering and shooting the poor hobbits suspicious glares. “Might I ask what has happened to you lot, to fall so far from what you shirriffs were intended for? What has Lotho plied you with, eh?”

“That doesn’t matter,” said the group’s leader dismissively. “What matters is that the Chief wants you to know, Thain Paladin, that this sort of gathering can be viewed as a threat. And gatherings such as this are against the Rules. All of you are to return to your homes, effective immediately.”

“Whatever Rules he has you lot following, they’re not part of the laws of the Shire,” Paladin answered steadily. “And as such, I am inclined to call them a wagonload of horseshite.”

He couldn’t help a small pleased smile at the laughs around him, or indeed at the scandalised faces of the shirriffs when the expletive really registered in their minds. No, Paladin was quite done with being a prim and proper hobbit at this point, and it was with some relief that he pushed his old manners to the side. He could worry about the general opinion later, when all was said and done; right now, he needed to be who the family-tree named him, and it seemed that some hobbits could do with a reminder.

“You’ll regret speaking of the Chief in that manner,” cried the leader, though he seemed a little less confident at the Thain’s apparent lack of care for their assumed authority. “You’ll be in the Lockholes soon enough for your disrespect!”

“Disrespect, you say?” Paladin raised an eyebrow. He took a few more steps towards the little group, his expression steadily growing thunderous as he moved. “I am calling your Chief’s bluff. I know the game he plays, and I am going to put an end to it. The only ones around here showing any sort of disrespect are you lot of children and that pimply upstart you call Chief!” The Tooks around him roared their approval of his words, and Paladin noted to himself that he’d have to thank Will Whitfoot for his choice of words for Lotho. He drew up to his full height, puffed out his chest and threw out his hands – a cocky gesture, he knew, but one that would serve its purpose well for what he had to say. And he raised his voice to a shout like rumbling thunder: “Allow me to remind you! I am Thain Paladin Took, the second of my name, and the great-grandson of none other than Gerontius Took the Old himself! I am the thirty-first Thain of the Shire, nineteenth of the Tooks to bear that title! It is to me that the rule of the Shire falls – to the rightful Thain, and not to a spineless coward of an upstart who cannot even face me on his own! If anyone in this land has the right to call himself Chief, it is I! Remind him of that, when you crawl back to him like the cowering dogs you are, but do not expect anything else than a kick to your worthless behinds for your trouble!”

The gathered hobbits cheered and roared, shouting his name over and over. The shirriffs seemed overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do, and even their leader looked nearly frightened. Paladin felt his heart swell with pride, and he could hear his wife and his daughters behind him as they joined their voices to the others. The Tooks would not be cowed by anyone, least of all Lotho. He took a few more steps towards the shirriffs, and began to grin as they recoiled. They had counted on that he would bow like the rest, no doubt. But no, not he. Not the most stubborn hobbit south of the Water.

“Go now,” he cried. “You are hobbits, and I should like to think you are less foolish than you appear, so I will allow you to pass through my lands without any harm coming to you! But be sure to tell young mister Lotho that any Men he sends this way will be met with a harsher welcome than you! And do remind him to send them – I’ve been itching for a chance to do some proper target-practice!”

At that, they at last broke their little formation and turned and fled, and the roars of the Tooks followed them on their way. Eglantine came up to her husband and placed her hand on his arm, pride shining in her eyes when he turned to her.

“You sent them packing, and no mistake,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the din around them. “But now we shall have to prepare for what comes next.”

“That we shall, rosehip,” Paladin agreed easily. “And I hope you do not mind my saying so, but you and the lasses shall have to arm yourselves as well. I do not doubt the capability of anyone here, but I’d rather see that you are all safe.”

“Pearl and her husband went to Whitwell the other day,” Eglantine admitted, a mischievous smile briefly crossing her features. “They came back with sickles and scythes – anything that could conceivably be used as a weapon. And Pimpernel and Pervinca have both chosen something for themselves and for their husbands. I picked a scythe for myself, just in case.”

Paladin couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face at those words. He knew his wife was devious, as were his daughters, but he’d not quite expected them to realise the situation so soon.

“If I didn’t know better, rosehip, I’d say there’s Took-blood in you,” he said cheerfully. “I love you, and I hope you know that.”

“If you love me, you’d best go and find your bow and quiver,” Eglantine snorted, giving her husband a light shove. “And ensure that you have arrows ready. I can’t imagine Lotho will want to wait with sending anyone.”

She proved to be right. Barely four days passed since the confrontation with the shirriffs before a scout returned from near Whitwell, bearing news that ruffians had come.

“It looks like they’re coming from the direction of Michel Delving,” said the hobbit. “They’re not that many – a score of Men, at the most – but they’re armed and prepared for a fight. They should be here within an hour, if not less.”

“We shall have to move quickly, then,” Paladin stated in a jovial tone. “Eglantine, I’ll leave the Great Smials and our folk in your capable hands. I’ll need at least thirty of our archers with me, but more than enough will be left to defend our home if need be.”

So it was done. Within less than a half hour, Paladin led his troop of archers away from Tuckborough and on towards Whitwell. It was just after noon, and they were seen off on their mission by a chorus of cheering kinsmen. There was an ideal place along the way to set up an ambush; the road from the farm that led to the main settlement of the Tooks ran straight through a little dell bordered by oaks, following a turn in the road. The banks of the dell were steep and difficult to climb up, and likely the ruffians would not care to do so. In their mind, it was likely that they thought it to be a very straightforward errand they were on, simply to subdue a bunch of rebellious hobbits. But if one knew the land around the farm as Paladin did, having grown up there as he had, one would know the way around and up the banks. Here they settled down and waited, hidden in the bushes or behind low snowbanks. Paladin, deciding that it was going to be as good a time as any to introduce himself to the invaders, simply sat down in the middle of the road with crossed legs and waited.

They hadn’t been there long; indeed it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, if even that. But a low birdcall, the call of one of the archers, told Paladin that the Men were approaching from around the bend in the road. He got to his feet and brushed the snow from his clothing before plastering a wide innocent smile on his face as the ruffians came into the dell. They paused as they saw him, seeming a little surprised to find a hobbit so soon.

“What do you think you’re doing here, you little rat?” cried one of them, a large burly man with squinting eyes. “Don’t you know the Rules? You’d best get back inside, before we take you before the Chief!”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t give a rat’s arse about the Rules,” Paladin answered easily. “They don’t apply here. And more than anything, you lot have no business here, so I’d suggest you go back wherever you came from.”

The Men laughed, and their leader took just a few steps forward. Paladin watched calmly as some of his archers snuck down from the banks and positioned themselves behind the group.

“You’ll be off to the Lockholes, that’s for certain, my lad,” the leader jeered. “Perhaps a year or so of a meal a day would suit you better!”

“Oh, I’ve an answer for that,” Paladin laughed. “Trust me, you’ll like this. Now, let me just see where I’ve put it…” He began patting the pockets on his jacket, weskit and trousers, and the hobbits all around readied their bows and took aim; a signal. “Oh, wonderful, here it is,” cried Paladin, delight clear in his voice, as he stuck one hand into his jacket pocket, only to flash a rude hand-gesture at the ruffians as he withdrew it again.

Arrows flew, and landed in a neat circle around the Men. They quickly looked around and, finding themselves surrounded, stopped laughing. Paladin’s smile grew wider; he looked almost feral as he took up his bow and nocked an arrow to the string before drawing it back and taking aim.

“I shall make you a promise,” he told the leader. “The next few arrows won’t be warning shots. But a Thain must remember to be merciful. If you and your filth decide to turn around and slink back to Lotho, I might let you live. Otherwise, you will be taken down – every last one of you. The arrows of the Tooks do not miss.”

For a moment, it almost looked as though the ruffian would take him up on his offer. Though they were stronger, they were outnumbered and in an unfamiliar place. For all they knew, there could be hundreds of hobbits waiting nearby. But then the leader drew from his belt a wicked-looking blade and grinned.

“At them, boys,” he shouted. “Show them that Sharkey’s men aren’t to be trifled with!”

He flew forward, and Paladin was momentarily stunned at the man’s audacity. No one of a sane mind would defy such odds. But he steeled himself and didn’t budge from where he stood, waiting for the man to come just a little closer before he let his arrow fly. It struck true, boring into the man’s neck, and it was with an awful gurgling sound that the man dropped his blade and sank to the ground. Fighting back the nausea that came with the realisation of what he’d just done, Paladin turned his attention to the rest of the ruffians. The Men were all struggling, attempting to either climb up the banks to get at their assailants or to get through the line that had formed behind them.

Paladin was quick to take up his part of the assault, and two more men fell before the Thain ordered the blockade to move. As soon as there was an opening, the ruffians began to run. They made half-hearted lunges for the nearby archers, but were soon being driven ahead of the troop like cattle. Four hobbits had taken wounds during the brief fight, and they remained behind while the hunt was on. The snow-clad hills echoed with the cries of the hunters and the hunted, and Paladin ran at the head of his troop as they drove the Men back. Arrows still flew, whistling past the heads of the wretches. All the way to the border of Tookland they ran, closely followed by their hunters, and there Paladin ordered his archers to stop.

“Take word back to your Chief, and that Sharkey,” he roared after the Men, “and tell them that Tookland will never fall while there are Tooks left defending their homes! We have been courteous to you by letting most of you go – the next batch will not be so kindly treated! If we see one of your kind crossing our border again, they will be greeted with an arrow through their skull!”

They didn’t stay to see if more Men would show up. They only turned and went back to the dell, where they found that the four injured hobbits had bound their wounds and dug graves for the dead ruffians. As they moved the bodies into the holes, Paladin tried not to look at the one who had an arrow through his throat. He’d never had to kill anything else than an animal before. Somewhere in his mind, he’d hoped that it wouldn’t be different, that it would be just like hunting a boar or a deer; but the noise the man had made as he fell had convinced him that he’d been wrong.

As they returned to Tuckborough, they were all silent. Things had changed, and not for the better – all of them could feel it.

“We were defending ourselves,” said one of them quietly to Paladin as they finally laid eyes on their home. “We had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Paladin answered grimly. “And we simply chose to live.”

“Do we know who got the ones we buried?” the hobbit asked, lowering his voice to barely a whisper.

“I know I got the leader,” Paladin muttered in response. “I’m not going to ask who downed the other two. Best not drag it all up again. Let them forget, should they wish it, and let’s simply state that we succeeded in the defence of our land so far.”

They said nothing more of the matter.

 --

Things were steadily getting worse. In the months that followed their first confrontation with the ruffians, the Tooks came to realise that they were trapped. Lotho was quick to give orders to keep a watch on Tookland’s borders, and to snatch any hobbit foolish enough to attempt to cross. Paladin answered in kind, prowling the land with his archers and hunting any Men who crossed the border. Even as spring came again and they were able to till the fields, there was no cheer to be found in Tookland, or indeed anywhere else in the Shire.

The nights were the worst, in Paladin’s opinion. As calming as it was to be able to stay in his home, and to have his family nearby, he often lay awake and tried to imagine what was going to happen. He had no idea of what went on in the rest of the Shire anymore. He didn’t dare to send any more messengers or scouts, for fear of them never returning to their families. The innkeeper’s boy had never returned, and the people of Tuckborough feared the worst. Paladin had not gone near the inn for weeks; he couldn’t face the boy’s parents after sending the lad on what was essentially a suicide mission.

He thought often of his sister in Buckland and wondered how they fared there. The strip of land between the Old Forest and the Brandywine river was technically not part of the Shire, though it was often counted as such in common speech. But Lotho seemed so determined that he’d have all the land under his thumb – surely Buckland could not have escaped. But they were hardy folk there, and they were unlikely to accept the rule of anyone else than the Master. Which in turn likely meant that they would fare worse, if Lotho’s inclinations for sending his ruffians to “keep the peace”, such as it was, was any indication.

The long and short of it was that Paladin felt guilty. He admitted as much to Eglantine when they were alone, and she did what she could to comfort her husband.

“You’ve done what you had to do,” she insisted one quiet evening when they were about to seek their bed. “Paladin, what else could there possibly be? Thanks to you and your vigilance, we’re safe.”

“We have nothing but our own fields,” Paladin answered bitterly. “We don’t know what’s happening around us anymore. I allowed Will, that poor fool, to walk straight into a trap. I never sent more than a message to Saradoc, when I should have sent aid. Archers, food… Anything.” He threw out his hands and gave a short derisive laugh. “I’ve allowed the rest of us to get trapped here, like badgers in their holes, and all I’ve done is kept others away.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“What else am I to say? Tina, dearest, you know as well as I do that we might not be able to handle another winter. Sooner or later, we will be worn down.”

Eglantine suddenly let out a shout of frustration. She snatched up a pillow from the bed and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“What’s happened to you?” she snapped. “Who is this standing before me? Not my husband, that’s for certain!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paladin snarled. “I’m telling you what we both already know!”

“The Paladin Took I know and love would not give up so easily,” Eglantine cried. “Solving problems, that is what you do! What you’ve always done! Well, here’s a problem for you – we might not last another winter, just as you said, and we don’t know what’s happening around us! So fix that! Solve that problem!”

“It isn’t that easy! What am I supposed to do, send more hobbits to their deaths or tell them to walk straight into the Lockholes?” Paladin threw the pillow back at her, his snarl becoming more ferocious when she caught it and threw it down on the bed again. “I’m not willing to lose anyone else, Tina!”

“That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? It’s because Pippin left!”

Paladin froze. The words felt like a slap to the face, and Eglantine seemed to hate saying it as much as he hated hearing it. Tears had started to run down her cheeks, and she glared at him through them.

“Our son is out there,” Eglantine continued, lowering her voice a little though it remained fierce in its tone. “Our son is somewhere out there, and he lives. I know it. That you have almost given up on him doesn’t mean that I am willing to do so. Pippin is out there, and he will come home to us. And when he does, he will help us set this mess straight, you mark my words!”

He wanted to believe her. She wasn’t necessary wrong, he knew that; but they couldn’t be certain. He’d hoped for the same thing for so long already, and still he couldn’t imagine that Pippin would be gone for so long if something hadn’t happened to him.

“If he comes home,” he said shortly, spitting the words out as though they were poison. “If he ever comes home to us.”

After that exchange, Paladin took to wandering about Tookland with his archers and scouts more often. They’d camp under the stars, watching and waiting for the next ruffian to dare to cross into their land. Occasionally they’d run into small raiding parties, but they were easy enough to see off.

It was in late April that a change came and seemed to bring a breath of hope to the land around Tuckborough. Paladin and his troop were preparing to head off on another hunt when a scout came rushing up towards the Great Smials, hollering Paladin’s name like a madman.

“Calm yourself, lad, and tell me what you want,” Paladin snapped when the hobbit came closer. “What’s all the shouting for?”

“There’s a group coming straight for Tuckborough, sir,” the hobbit panted. “They’re armed, and they’re not bothering to hide.”

“How did they slip past our sentries?” cried the Thain. Around him, his troop hurried to string their bows to have them ready. “Where on earth did they come from?”

“No, sir, no, it’s nothing bad!” The scout straightened and gave Paladin a toothy grin; he looked happier than anyone in the area had been since before Yule. “They’re hobbits! And you’ll never guess who’s leading them!”

As he rushed to the outskirts of town, Paladin tried to keep his hopes down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped desperately that it would be his son returning home. But no, it couldn’t be – the scout would have said so straightaway, they all knew that the Thain and his family missed the lad dearly.

It wasn’t long before a group of hobbits came into view. As the scout had said, they certainly weren’t bothering with subtlety; in fact, they were singing merrily as they went, and the hobbits of Tuckborough left their homes as they heard the song and came to see what all the fuss was about.

And when they came closer, Paladin suddenly burst into laughter, a joyful sound that hadn’t been heard for some months. At the front of the approaching group was none other than Fredegar Bolger, dear old Fatty, bearing a bow and quiver on his back and a spear in his hand.

“Well met, cousin,” cried the lad. “It’s a relief to see that you’re all still standing!”

“You’ll give poor old Odovacar and dear Rosamunda apoplexy with the way you put yourself in trouble, Fatty,” Paladin shouted back, though he broke into a run and hurried forward to greet them. All formalities were dispensed of, and he swept the young hobbit into a tight embrace. “First the whole business at Crickhollow, and now whatever this is! Oh, but it does an old heart good to see you!”

Fredegar laughed and returned the embrace, and his grasp seemed stronger than it had ever been before. Paladin had never thought of dear old Fatty as a particularly fierce hobbit, but it seemed the Took-blood from cousin Rosamunda ran strong in the lad all the same. The Bolger and his group were quickly invited to the Great Smials, and Paladin sent his troop out without him.

“We still need to be vigilant,” he told them. “Go down past Tookbank and start scouring the lands south and east of there, then you can circle up towards Pincup and see if there’s anything there to be salvaged. If there are ruffians there, see them off by any means necessary.”

“You’re fighting your own war here,” Fredegar noted when he watched the troop march off. “Folk around the Shire are talking about it. You’ve become quite an inspiration, you know.”

“Inspiration,” Paladin snorted. “For doing what, precisely?”

“For showing Lotho who the true Chief is.” Fredegar’s voice was even and calm, and there was no lie in his eyes when he spoke. Something in the young hobbit’s manner made Paladin wonder why on earth he’d ever started to despair. “Old Pimple hasn’t quite understood that he should be afraid of you yet. He thinks that all he needs to do is keep you lot ringed in, like sheep in a paddock, and you’ll eventually give up.”

“And we might have to,” stated the Took glumly, pushing open the door to his home. “Fredegar, we have nothing right now. We can till our fields all we want; we can slaughter our pigs and live well for a time. But sooner or later, we will have to give in. Going on like this, fighting when new Men keep coming, this isn’t how we should live.”

They went inside, and Fredegar was blithely greeted by Paladin’s family. Eglantine fussed over him, asking over and again if they were keeping safe, and Fredegar only laughed and told her that they were doing their best. When Paladin at last managed to get the lad alone again, he brought him to the Thain’s study.

“What’s happening in the rest of the Shire?” he asked the lad once they’d sat down. “I’m afraid news of events aren’t passing through very easily anymore.”

“Lotho is doing his best to ruin everything,” Fatty snorted. “Everyone is frightened and unsure of what to do. The Boffins tried to do what you’ve been doing, and holed themselves up in the Yale, but they were driven out fast. Too many ruffians around Woody End, I’m afraid. I’ve not been able to go back to Budgeford for a while. Father didn’t want to sell anything of what he owned, and neither did anyone else there. So Lotho sent his Men and threatened to burn it all to the ground. You can imagine what a blow that would’ve been. They took away the pigs, and left nothing for us.” The young hobbit smiled grimly as he glanced around in the room. “I suppose I made a bit of a name for myself. My group calls me Captain Freddy nowadays, and we do what we can to cause trouble for Lotho. We steal shipments that he’s sending off south, and we keep the ruffians from ruining too much. We’ve been hiding in the Brockenbores, when we need to lay low. Doesn’t seem like Lotho’s got much of a head for figuring out good hideouts.”

“A head for business but not much else,” Paladin agreed. “That’s how most of his family have been. But do you mean to say you’ve only been wandering about in the Shire?”

“Since Yule, thereabouts. I’ve not been able to go back home since then. Lotho’s got people watching Budgeford, and I’d be whisked away faster than poor old Flourdumpling if I showed myself there. So we’ve been wandering about, doing what we can. People need some sort of hope.” The young Bolger straightened in his chair and fixed Paladin with a calculating stare. “And they felt hope when you refused to back down. It’s been getting worse for them since then, but they’ve not given up entirely. Some are still willing to stand up to Lotho.”

“And I can’t help them.” Paladin leant back in his chair and sighed. “I wish I could. But I can’t see how. We have our hands full just keeping our lands clear of those brutes, and what weapons or food we have we need for ourselves. If us holding on gives people hope, then that is all we can do.”

“There is one more thing you can do.” Fredegar met his older cousin’s doubtful look with a grin. “It doesn’t need to be overly formal, but I need your permission for what I have in mind. We Bolgers have always supported the Thain, and I know that all in my group do so as well. Can you imagine what would really have old Pimple’s smallclothes in a painful twist?” Paladin frowned. He could think of a number of things, but none that he would be able to do himself. Fatty laughed and gestured to him. “The things my group and I do being done in your name. In the name of the Thain.”

And said Thain’s thoughts ground to a halt. He considered what Fredegar and his group had allegedly been up to, and how angry Lotho must be if he’d started keeping watch on Budgeford simply in the hopes of catching the lad. And little by little, Paladin began to grin, the same feral grin that he’d given the ruffians.

“In the name of the Thain,” he repeated slowly. “Lad, if I had the right to do so, I would make you a shirriff just to spite Lotho. It is sad that poor old Whitfoot is in the Lockholes, for I think he would have agreed with me and given you your feather on the spot. But as it is…” He met Fredegar’s gaze, and for a brief moment the kinship between them was all too obvious in their wide smiles. “You have my permission, and you may consider yourself deputized to in my name do anything you believe will aid the people of the Shire. I may not be able to call a Shire-muster, but if I could, I would have you and your group be part of it.”

“An unofficial muster, then,” Fatty laughed. “Against an invading force.”

“It might not be Bullroarer that I am descended from,” Paladin stated, “but I’d be more than willing to repeat his deeds against these ruffians. More than a few of them could stand to be knocked down a head or two.” He rose from his chair and held out his hand, and Fredegar quickly clambered to his feet and grasped it. “When all this is over, Fredegar, I’ll tell your father myself what you’ve done for me.”

“He’d be doing it in my stead, if he wasn’t needed at home,” Fatty answered with a snort. “But don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Thain Paladin.”

As night began to fall, Fredegar and his group declined to stay for the night. They had business to see to in the Southfarthing, they said, and they were unwilling to wait much longer. Though the Tooks were sad to see them go, Paladin sent a scout with them to guide them to a place along the border that was poorly watched, where they might cross and continue their journey. And as he watched the broad hobbit head out, the Thain smiled to himself. Perhaps there was a little ray of hope after all.

 --

Come Midsummer, the hope was gone again. A single hobbit from Fredegar’s group came to Tookland to bear them the news that Fredegar had been captured and taken to the Lockholes.

“They came to the Brockenbores and smoked us out,” the hobbit said glumly. “We fought best we could, but we couldn’t last. Every exit was watched, and we had no way past them. Poor Captain Freddy put up a mighty fight when he came out, and I was able to slip away in the confusion and saw how they knocked him out and dragged him to the wagon going to the Lockholes.”

“Are you the only one left?” Paladin asked quietly. “There are no others?”

“I don’t know,” the lad admitted. “I’ve not been able to find the others, so I assume they’re either hiding in the forests or they’ve been taken away along with Captain Freddy.”

“Poor old Fatty,” sighed Eglantine. “He was bold indeed, and I’m glad to hear he lives at least.”

“There’s nothing for it,” Paladin stated. He shook himself and gave the young hobbit a grim look. “You might stay here, if you wish, lad. Perhaps it’ll be for the best. I can’t know if Lotho was aware of every single one of Fredegar’s rebels, but I daresay the rest of the Shire isn’t safe for you now.”

“But what can be done from here?” the hobbit protested. “It’s out there that we need to be!”

“We can’t do more than hold the line.” The Thain crossed his arms and shook his head. “But even if that is all we can do, we must hold out as long as possible. Help will come. It has to.”

 --

So the months went by; they fought as they could, and they held the line. Fewer and fewer ruffians were spotted crossing the border; some were inclined to state that the Men had grown to fear the area, but Paladin didn’t believe it for a moment. They didn’t need to cross anymore, that was all. They knew they only had to wait.

Towards the end of September, just after what would have been Frodo’s and Bilbo’s birthday, there was another change. The ruffians seemed to grow bolder again, and they went about in larger groups than before. Once, a score or so of them even made it all the way to Tuckborough, killing what sentries they could find or catch up to. Paladin and his archers saw them off, killing five of them before the rest turned their tail and fled. After that incident, it was ensured that no hobbit would be out as a scout on their own, but rather travel in groups for three or four. It was safer that way, and they would not be taken by surprise as easily.

But as that continued, Paladin began to feel restless. Something was coming, he thought, something was about to happen. He felt as though a storm was approaching; there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

“Something will change in our favour soon,” he simply told himself. “It has to.”

October came and went, and Paladin began to wonder if the tension in the air was ever going to fade. It seemed to linger over the land, and he couldn’t figure out what on earth it was. If anyone else felt it, they certainly didn’t mention it. But on the night between the second and third of November, it finally dissipated.

It was near midnight when a scout came flying up the road to the Great Smials and banged on the door, shouting for the Thain to come out. As soon as Paladin pushed the door open, intending to berate the hobbit and remind him of the late hour, the scout simply grabbed hold of his hand and began to pull him outside.

“Slow down, lad,” cried Paladin as he tried to pull free. “What’s gotten into you?! Are there more ruffians on their way?”

“No, sir, no ruffians,” panted the scout. “But you have to see who has come home!”

Paladin glanced over his shoulder, finding his wife and daughters watching him with worried faces from the doorway. He frowned and gestured for them to come along; one might as well find out what was going on.

They were led to the little square in the town and found there a massive gathering of people, all chattering and calling out to each other and cheering. And in the midst of it all was a group of hobbits who were definitely not from the area, all armed. But it was not the amount of people that caused Paladin to freeze on the spot, but rather the one he saw at the front of them all.

At first glance, he would’ve mistaken the person for a very young Man; he stood a good head taller than any hobbits there, and he was clad in armour and wore a sword at his side and had a grey cloak thrown over his shoulders that was fastened with a leaf-shaped brooch. But a single glance down confirmed that it was indeed a hobbit – there was no mistaking the large furry feet for anything else than hobbit feet. And the face, when the hobbit turned to see Paladin and his family, was so painfully familiar that Paladin felt as though he’d walked straight into a dream. But whether it was a nightmare or not, he couldn’t tell.

Eglantine let out a shriek when she saw him, and she rushed past her husband towards the hobbit with her daughters close behind.

“You absolute tom-fool of a Took,” Eglantine shouted as she threw her arms around the lad, and he laughed as he caught her and swung her around. “Where in the world have you been, Peregrin Took? I’ve been worried sick about you! Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?”

“Stars above, what’s happened to you?” cried Pearl once she had a chance to embrace her little brother. “You were shorter than me when you left! What sort of growth spurt do you call this?”

“Oh, Pippin, I’m so glad to see you,” Pimpernel laughed, crowding close along with Pimpernel and Pearl as Pippin tried to embrace all three of them at once. “Look at you! You’re certainly not so little anymore!”

“You’d better not pull that again,” sobbed Pervinca, pressing her face against Pippin’s shoulder. “Do you hear me? You’ve been gone for so long, and without a word!”

“I promise you all that there was a very good reason,” Pippin answered once he deigned to stop laughing and let go of them. “And I will tell you all of it as well as I can, but there is work to be done now that cannot wait!” He turned his eyes to Paladin, who still stood at a distance and only stared at him as though he’d seen a ghost. “Father, I know you must be angry, but I beg you to save any shouting for later. Frodo, Merry, and Sam are waiting for me and I can’t linger. It’s shaping up for a battle in Bywater, and we’ll need reinforcements, if you have any archers to spare.”

“There are plenty,” Paladin heard himself stating. “Take as many of them as you need – they’ll be glad to follow you, I reckon. Are you going after Lotho?”

“That’s the plan, at least,” Pippin admitted. He frowned slightly and watched his father with worry in his eyes. “Father, are you well? You look a little-“

“You’d best hurry,” Paladin interrupted him. “Don’t keep your cousins waiting.”

And without another word, he turned around and went back to the Great Smials, ignoring his wife and daughters calling after him.

He felt sick to his stomach. If it was a dream, it was a cruel one – but it couldn’t be. Such outlandish clothing was quite beyond his imagination, and Pippin’s behaviour was not quite as it used to be. He was back, and the first thing Paladin had felt when Pippin voiced his request for archers had been a steadily building fury. A year the lad had been gone, and he returned as a different hobbit and was already in such a hurry to be off again. Though he looked like Pippin and sounded like Pippin, something about this hobbit made Paladin feel as though he looked at a stranger. It was not a fair anger at all that he felt, and he knew it well, but it was there all the same.

Once inside the Great Smials, he went straight to his study and closed and locked the door behind him. He needed a little bit of peace, and there would be none of that when Eglantine caught up with him.

“My son is back,” he said aloud to the empty room. “My son is back, and I don’t recognise him. I should be happy. I should be overjoyed.” He took a deep breath and crossed the room to his desk and leant heavily against it. “It is my son. I know it is. It’s my Peregrin. So why am I so angry? Why did I look at him and feel like I see a stranger and that I want him gone?”

He stood there for a long time, arguing quietly with himself. Exactly how long he was there, he couldn’t tell, but it had to be in the wee hours of the morning that he finally left his study and returned to the chambers he shared with his wife. Eglantine was fast asleep, seeming very content now that she knew her son was alive. Paladin moved as silently as he could to avoid waking her and slipped into bed beside her. But sleep did not find him until the sun was beginning to rise.

 --

It was odd, Paladin thought, to find out all that had happened while Tookland had been cut off from the rest of the Shire. The news that Lotho was dead and had been so for some time hit harder than they should have, and the Thain couldn’t figure out how he felt about that. Lotho Sackville-Baggins had been more wretched than any hobbit he’d ever known, but he couldn’t claim that the lad had deserved such a horrid end. He could imagine that the poor creature had regretted many things in his last moments – his cruel treatment of his homeland and its people likely among them.

Then there was the fact that this Sharkey that the ruffians had served was a wizard – one of Gandalf’s order, no less, who had become corrupted. Paladin had listened with great interest to what his folk had been able to tell him of this Saruman, and of his apparent hatred for Frodo and his cousins. But he was glad, was Paladin, that he’d not been there to see those final moments. It was the stuff of nightmares, he was told, to see the old man’s body wither away before their very eyes.

Little by little, matters began to improve. They found the storages the ruffians had kept, and there seemed to be plenty of food for all – with a little bit of rationing to last the winter, of course. The prisoners of the Lockholes were freed, and Paladin would later only reluctantly admit that he wept when he greeted old Flourdumpling again, not to mention poor Fredegar who had to be carried out of there. Even Lobelia was a sight for sore eyes, as hated as she had been once, and Paladin greeted her with more respect than he ever had before; the tale of how she’d beaten one of Saruman’s men with her umbrella had been both amusing and inspiring, and he’d not soon forget it. Even the innkeeper’s son returned, having spent the time with a distant relative in Rushey, and again Paladin had wept as he embraced the lad. There were no hard words from the boy’s father or mother – they’d both been there, and their son had volunteered after all.

The issue with Pippin remained. Paladin kept away as much as he could – he went often with his archers to the Southfarthing to drive out any of the remaining brigands, and Pippin would often be off somewhere else when he returned. Anyone else would say that they kept missing each other, though Paladin knew from the glares Eglantine gave him that no one in his home believed that. He’d greeted Frodo, Merry, and Sam courteously, but he’d been grievously short with them; they did, after all, have a hand in his son’s disappearance. He knew very well that it wasn’t fair to treat them as he did, but he felt surprisingly unwilling to be forgiving.

One day during the following winter after Yule, as he returned from another outing with the archers, he found Pippin waiting for him on the doorstep. The lad had finally dispensed of the outlandish clothing and wore something far more hobbit-like, though it was clear that it must have been made for him while he was away; it fit him better than any of his old clothes possibly could, if he could indeed get into his old clothes anymore. He looked so much older than his barely twenty-nine years, and he had a serious look on his face that only rarely appeared before.

“Could we speak, father?” he asked. “We’ve not had the chance to do so since I came back, and I feel there are a few things I should tell you.”

Paladin struggled to keep himself from frowning; it wouldn’t be fair if he did, not when Pippin was the one to seek him out. He gave a short nod and took a few steps towards the door, only to have Pippin rise and shake his head.

“Elsewhere, perhaps,” he suggested. “I spoke with mother and the girls yesterday, and they’ve not looked at me the same way since.” The lad gave a rueful smile and shrugged. “I did ask them if we shouldn’t wait until you came home, but they insisted they could handle it.”

“Then what makes you believe that I can?” Paladin asked, his voice sharper than he wanted it to be. He turned, gesturing for his son to follow him, and began to walk away from the Smial, following the road until he reached a track on the eastern side that ran out towards the hills. This track he followed, as he so often had lately, until he reached a little dell with a pond. It was frozen over, and the land around them was white with a light coating of snow. “Speak,” he said as he sat down on a stone. “Say what you wish to have said.”

“Would it kill you to welcome your son home?” snapped Pippin suddenly. “Would it be so horrible to say ‘well, here you are then, Pippin, it is so good to see you’, or even that you’ve missed me? Ever since I came back, you’ve been nothing but short with me!” He threw out his hands as he paced back and forth, an unusual expression of anger on his face. “I just wish you would do something instead of slinking away with the archers! You come and go when I can’t get a hold of you, you stay away if I’m around!”

“What do you want me to say?” Paladin asked, keeping his tone even though he felt a similar anger surge to the surface.

“Get angry with me, shout at me,” Pippin cried. “Demand to know where I’ve been and why I didn’t say anything! Anything to show that you’ve at least missed me or noticed I was gone!”

Swift as a snake, Paladin reached out and grabbed hold of the young hobbit’s arm, forcing him to stop his pacing. His grasp was far tighter than it needed to be, judging by the surprise that flickered in Pippin’s eyes.

“I am angry,” the Thain said, though he still forced his tone to stay calm. “I am beyond furious, Peregrin, and that is part of why I’ve avoided you. You’re home, and I should be overjoyed just for seeing you alive. My anger doesn’t serve any purpose other than clouding my own judgement.” His face hardened, and for but a moment he allowed the anger to seep through his tone. “You come to me and wish to speak with me, and you berate me for not making you my top priority now that you’re home. You’ve no idea what it’s been like in your absence, child! And don’t you dare expect me to treat you the same as I would the child who left me without a word! As far as I am able to tell, that child is indeed dead and gone, for it is not he who stands before me now!”

As he released the lad and leant back again, Pippin looked more lost than his father had ever seen him; for barely a moment, Paladin thought he recognised the lad.

“I am not saying you’re not my son,” Paladin continued quietly. The anger slowly withdrew, leaving him with a weary and nauseous feeling. “There is nothing you can do that would make me claim you aren’t, or that I wish you hadn’t come home. But I can see that you’ve grown up during your journey, and perhaps too quickly. You aren’t the same as when you left. Stars above, lad, I scarcely recognise you anymore! I do want to be angry with you, and stars know I have been ever since you came home. But what good does that do? It isn’t fair – not to you, not to your cousins and friends, not to your mother or sisters. Or even to myself.” He looked up at the young hobbit, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “I knew you weren’t dead. I never thought you were. But I was just as certain that I’d never get to see you or the other lads again. I would have gone to look for you if Saradoc hadn’t stopped me, and stars know that I am glad he did. It’s been a year, Pippin. A whole year, and I’ve mourned you as though you were dead, even if I knew in my heart you weren’t. And suddenly you show up with armour and weapons, having grown a head taller than me while you were gone, and you stage an uprising against that Saruman. I don’t recognise you, as I said. You’ve gone from being a child to acting like-“

Like him. Pippin had always been his mother’s son, but blessed stars above, he came back from his journey acting like Paladin. It made the Thain feel proud beyond measure, but it was a strangely terrifying realisation; Paladin had had years of hard work to become who he was, and no small amount of hardship. Within less than a year, Pippin had gone through the same change, if not more.

They were silent for a long while, and Paladin felt more wretched than he had for years. He loved his son so dearly, and yet this was how he welcomed him home. It wasn’t fair – not by any stretch of the imagination.

“I told mother and the girls of what happened during my journey,” Pippin said at last. “I hoped it would explain a bit, and that they would understand. But I’m not certain that I didn’t create more questions rather than I gave answers.” He paused briefly and sought his father’s gaze again. “I should like to tell you too, father, if you want to hear it. But it’s a very long story, and it’s difficult to tell it.”

Paladin thought for a moment. A part of him wanted to be upset for not getting to hear the story alongside his wife and daughters, but a more sensible part pushed that aside; he hadn’t been home, after all. But he nodded and got to his feet again, gesturing for Pippin to follow as he continued to walk away from the pond and on towards the hills.

“If you don’t want to do this at home, then let us at least be out of the cold,” he said.

There was a little smial at the foot of one of the hills that served as a makeshift basecamp for hunters, and there they went. It was not much of a smial – it had only the bare minimum of furniture and there were no supplies other than firewood and flint and tinder left within it now, but it would do in a pinch. They built a fire on the little hearth as soon as they got there and settled down before it.

Paladin never had to say a word. Pippin began to speak without being prompted to. He explained why Frodo had to leave – what Bilbo had left for the lad and why it was so dangerous. He told the story of who the black riders were that had followed them, and how they’d taken the way through the Old Forest. He spoke of Tom Bombadil and the Barrow-downs, of Bree and meeting the ranger Strider there. He told the tale of Gandalf’s inexplicable absence, of the attack on the Prancing Pony inn, and how they’d fled the town with Strider the following morning and how they’d been led by him into the wild.

When he spoke of their night on Weathertop, he grew very pale and spoke slowly, as though he could see it before his waking eyes when he spoke. He told of the Ringwraiths and their attack, of Frodo’s injury and their desperate flight through the Lonelands and on through the Trollshaws. He spoke of their arrival in Rivendell – just in the nick of time, it seemed – and of how Frodo had been healed.

He spoke of seeing Bilbo again, of Gandalf’s return, of the Council, and of the final decision that Frodo was to take the Ring of the Enemy on to Mordor.

It all grew more stilted as the story went on, and Paladin could see that Pippin was struggling to get it all out. There was much that the lad likely didn’t understand, or that he didn’t remember clearly. And Paladin listened, not daring to interrupt for fear that Pippin would not be able to continue. The longer the lad spoke, the more often he had to pause and collect himself – as though the memory of his journey scared him.

The tale went on with the Fellowship departing from Rivendell, and their journey south. Pippin spoke much of his companions, and it lightened Paladin’s heart a little to see the lad smile when he spoke of them. Of Aragorn – Strider, as they’d called him before – and of Legolas and Gimli, and of Gandalf. And, most of all, of Boromir, a man from the south who grew to be a close friend of both Merry and Pippin.

And Pippin spoke of their disastrous attempt to cross the Misty Mountains via the pass of Caradhras, and of the decision to take another road when the mountain would not grant them passage; he spoke of Moria, and Paladin shuddered. Stories of that dark place had reached even the Shire. Pippin told of their journey through there, of how they’d found the last remains of the dwarf colony that one of Bilbo’s friends had led, and of the battle with the orcs of the mines. Then Pippin suddenly closed his eyes and shivered, and he had to force out the last of the story of Moria – of how they’d fled, desperately hoping to reach the eastern gate, and of the horrible being that pursued them, one that even the orcs feared. He spoke of Gandalf’s last stand at the bridge and his fall, and Paladin finally reached out then to place a hand on his son’s shoulder in wordless support. It felt rather like an endless abyss yawned at his feet at the thought of Gandalf’s death; the wizard had seemed eternal, as though he would never disappear from the world, and Paladin felt an inexplicable sadness at the thought. He’d never been close to the old man, and yet he could feel that it just wasn’t right that Gandalf was gone.

But Pippin didn’t stop there. He told of their escape and of their arrival in Lothlórien, of how they’d met Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and been welcomed in the land. He spoke of the journey along the Anduin, and how abruptly everything had changed. At the falls of Rauros, as he called them, the Fellowship had been attacked by orcs and scattered; he’d not known where Aragorn or Legolas or Gimli were, or indeed Frodo and Sam. When the lad spoke of Boromir’s death, he began to weep; no silent tears, but great heaving sobs that brought tears to Paladin’s eyes as well. And the Thain moved from his chair and sat on the armrest of Pippin’s, carefully wrapping his arms around the lad. He said nothing yet, only held on while Pippin wept and tried to continue.

They’d been captured, had he and Merry. Captured and brought back west, towards Isengard – Saruman’s lair. Paladin tightened his grip on his son at that, a hot rage beginning to simmer in his chest when Pippin spoke of the cruel treatment he and his cousin had suffered at the hands of the orcs and how he’d tried to leave a sign in case they were followed. But the older hobbit collected himself and remained silent, listening intently as he was told of how his son and nephew escaped at last, purely by chance, and ran straight into the hands of a creature that seemed as much a fairytale as it had to be real.

There at last Pippin stopped weeping, and instead there was a touch of mirth in his voice when he described their meeting with Treebeard the Ent and the time they had spent with him. He seemed fond of the creature, though he openly admitted to having been frustrated by the being’s slow speech and reluctance to be hasty. But the time they spent in the Ent’s company was worth it, apparently, for the next part of the tale told of how the Ents of Fangorn had assaulted Isengard. A glorious battle, as Pippin told it, though it had been worrisome at the time. And then Pippin spoke of Gandalf suddenly returning, though he hadn’t gotten an answer out of the wizard at the time as to how it had come to pass; Paladin wasn’t certain of how to feel. He’d been sad to hear of Gandalf’s fall, and there was relief at hearing he lived again. But there was anger too, mingled with the relief, anger at the realisation that Gandalf still had a very large part in all of it.

From there, the tale grew more confusing – not to mention darker. Pippin and Merry were at last reunited with most of their friends, and were told that Frodo and Sam were likely travelling east towards Mordor. They found out how Gandalf had lived, and they heard the tale of the Thee Hunters giving chase to the orc-pack that had taken them, and of the great battle at Helm’s Deep. Pippin glossed over much of this, Paladin realised, for they had to be longer tales than the lad admitted.

Pippin spoke of the confrontation with Saruman, and how Gandalf had cast him out from their order and broken his staff. But he also spoke of the strange object that had been thrown out one of the windows – and which Pippin, in a moment of complete Tookish abandon, had picked up.

Paladin had to admit that he shivered when his son told that part. Whatever had been thrown from the wizard’s tower couldn’t be good, and it had to be a Took that found it.

“We’re like magpies with shiny things,” Paladin’s father had said once. “Something catches our attention, likely something shiny, and we have to have a look. We can’t not look; it just isn’t in our nature. But stars above, that always puts us in the worst trouble.”

Adalgrim Took had rarely been wrong in the wisdom he imparted, and it seemed he had been right once again. Pippin spoke of the first night after they’d left Isengard, and how he couldn’t stop himself from gazing into the palantír. He spoke of what he’d seen, though he began to shake violently as he did so. Paladin felt nauseous again as he listened, and he certainly didn’t miss the implications in what Pippin said the horrid being had told him. Still he said nothing, but only held the lad and waited.

Pippin explained how Gandalf had taken him away on his great horse, leaving Merry and the others behind. He told of how he’d been taken to Minas Tirith – Boromir’s city – and brought before the Steward of Gondor, to whom he’d sworn service.

The hot rage rose in Paladin again as he listened to his son speaking of lord Denethor. There were some folk in the world that you simply didn’t have to meet before knowing that you hated them. And his opinion of the man didn’t lighten as the tale went on and Pippin spoke of meeting Faramir, Boromir’s younger brother, who seemed to have been discarded by his father. Pippin spoke of Faramir’s attempts to placate the steward, and how Denethor had openly expressed a wish that Faramir had died instead of Boromir.

At those words, Paladin couldn’t stand it. He let out a low growl and released his son, got to his feet and began to pace around the room. Pippin raised his head and watched him with wide tear-filled eyes, as though he’d only just remembered that is father was there.

“I had to take the oath, father,” he insisted, and Paladin’s heart broke just a little more at the realisation that the lad thought his anger was aimed at him. “For Boromir’s sake. I meant every word of it, too. Please, you must understand-“

“If I had that Denethor in front of me right now,” Paladin interrupted, “I would put an arrow between his eyes myself! Treating you in such a fashion, treating Gandalf with such disrespect! And to treat his son, his own blood, like he was worth no more than the orcs they fought against! No, my lad, I am not angry with you, but with that wretch! On my word, I would have put an end to that if I could, and I would have helped Faramir if I was but given leave to do so!”

Pippin only stared at him in amazement, and suddenly he smiled.

“Father, you’d adopt half the children in Minas Tirith if you could,” he stated earnestly. “And you’d take Faramir under your wing too, I know that much. And he would never have to wish for a better father again.”

Though the words drove away his anger, Paladin felt his heart give an uncomfortable twist as Pippin’s smile faded again and he continued his tale. The lad spoke of the siege of Minas Tirith and of the battle of the Pelennor fields, and he spoke of Denethor’s attempt to burn himself and Faramir alive. He spoke of how he and Gandalf had rescued Faramir, how the riders of Rohan had arrived at last – and with Merry riding with them. He told the tale of Éowyn and her bold stand before the Witch-king, and he spoke of Aragorn’s glorious arrival alongside Gimli and Legolas. He told of how Merry and Éowyn and Faramir had been healed, and how plans had been made for an assault against the Black Gates of Mordor.

And then the story shifted again. Pippin began to tell what he knew of Frodo’s perilous journey, of Gollum and the trek across the Dead Marshes, of Minas Morgul and Cirith Ungol, of the horrid creature in the tunnel, and of the tower. And at last, of their trek towards Mount Doom.

He spoke very slowly when he told of the battle before the gates, and how he had been injured after slaying a great troll. Paladin’s heart twisted again, and he was immediately at his son’s side once more to embrace the lad. And Pippin spoke of how he’d been healed, and how Frodo and Sam had been brought back from near death after finally completing their dangerous journey.

And with the coronation of Aragorn and eventually his marriage to Lady Arwen, Pippin’s tale slowly came to an end. Paladin stared into the embers of the fire, ignoring that they were slowly fading, and picked up as Pippin left off. He spoke quietly of how he’d found out that Pippin and the others were missing, and of Fredegar’s confession to what they’d done. He spoke of his worry concerning both that and Lotho’s doings, and he spoke of poor old Will Whitfoot’s attempt to protest. Everything that had happened in his son’s absence was told, including the first confrontation with the ruffians. Pippin wrapped his arms around his father in return, clinging to him as though he were a small child again when Paladin spoke of how he’d killed one of the ruffians and how that had been a signal for all the ill that was to come.

And Pippin listened, as Paladin had, and said nothing.

When Paladin finished his tale, they were both silent for a long while. It was growing dark in the room, and Paladin realised that it had to be night already; it had been afternoon when he came home, and then they’d had to walk some distance to get to the little hunter’s smial.

“Your mother is going to flay me alive,” he sighed, gently stroking Pippin’s hair. “We must have missed supper.”

“Tea, dinner, and supper,” Pippin confirmed with a weak laugh. “My belly’s been rumbling for a long while.”

But they didn’t move from where they were, only stared at the dying fire.

“You came home to me a stranger,” Paladin stated at last. “But I believe I understand a little better now.”

“I came home and found you a stranger as well,” Pippin answered. “And I’m glad you told me everything that’s happened while I was gone.” He gave a small sniffle, as though he’d been weeping again, and Paladin remembered how he used to comfort the lad after nightmares once upon a time. “I’ve missed you, father. It hurt to come home and find that you didn’t want to know me anymore.”

“I missed you too, my Pippin.” Paladin smiled faintly as he leant close and pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “And I am sorry for how I’ve behaved. But I shan’t use the reasoning I gave as an excuse, and if you don’t wish to forgive me I shan’t fault you for it.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t forgive you when I expected so much worse,” Pippin said quietly. “I half expected you to banish me.” He turned his head to look up at his father with wide imploring eyes, and suddenly there he was – Paladin’s son, his beloved little lad who had disappeared more than a year ago. “I know I’m not the same, and I know you aren’t either, but can we at least be father and son again?”

“Things can never go back to what it was, Peregrin,” Paladin told him gently. “We can’t erase what we felt or did when you came home. But we can build on something new, now that we’ve at least spoken and cleared a few things up.” He smiled, and for a moment he was back at Whitwell farm again, years before he became Thain, with Pippin begging for reassurance after a nightmare. “You’re my son, and nothing will ever change the fact that I love you.”

They stayed where they were a little longer before they agreed that it was best to head back home before Eglantine came looking for them with a hunting party. They put out the fire and left the little smial, locking it securely behind them, and headed back towards the Great Smials. They were silent for a while as they went, and Paladin glanced up at the stars overhead. He thought briefly of Bilbo, and the journey that seemed to have started the entire matter. And to his mind came a little ditty that the old hobbit used to sing when he told the tale of his encounter with the spiders of Mirkwood. And Paladin glanced at his son and began to grin.

“ _Old fat spider, spinning in a tree_ ,” he began to sing, his grin becoming wider when Pippin gave a snort of laughter. “ _Old fat spider can’t see me_!”

Soon enough Pippin joined in with the familiar tune, and within moments they both had to pause on the road as they doubled over with laughter. It all felt so absurd that so many dangers came from Bilbo’s journey, and though the dark days weren’t that far behind them, they couldn’t help but laugh at the reminders of easier days when they’d been little children listening to their old cousin’s stories.

Eglantine was indeed furious as they came back, and she berated them loudly for having disappeared the way they had. But Paladin only drew her close and embraced her.

“I am sorry, rosehip,” he said earnestly, though he smiled as he spoke. “But Pippin and I really needed to talk alone. We weren’t thinking of the time. Now, is there any food left for us latecomers, or shall we have to make our own?”

“I’ll make you feed on tree-bark,” Eglantine snapped angrily. “Three meals missed – three! And you come waltzing back as though nothing’s wrong and ask me if there’s any food left for you! You have some nerve, Paladin Took, but don’t you dare forget that I still have a scythe in our rooms!”

“Why in the name of all stars is there a scythe in your rooms?” cried Pippin in shock. “I’m fairly certain it’s against our laws to murder the Thain, mother, and I am not at all ready to take over!”

Paladin only laughed again as Eglantine turned her ire on her son. Things might never return to what they were, but they would get better in time.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret absolutely nothing.  
> The "Old fat spider" song is from The Hobbit, and is the song Bilbo sings to distract the spiders.


End file.
